


Textbook

by Radiumchill



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, Time Travel, modern Elizabeth, regency Darcy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-20 18:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30008883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiumchill/pseuds/Radiumchill
Summary: Darcy inexplicably ends up in the 21st century and meets 21st century Elizabeth. I published this a few years ago on another site and thought it would be fun to edit.
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 44





	1. Darkness

Darcy sighed and strode out of his study, candle in hand. He couldn't write any more letters about New York being pleasant to various relatives and acquaintances. Coming here was a mistake. It had been too painful to stay in England. It now felt too painful to stay away. He was not pleased with anything in New York; of course, he was not. The people were uncouth. The city uncivilized. Even those who, rather boldly, to call themselves aristocrats were nothing but coarse frauds.

What would Elizabeth think of his observations? He laughed softly to himself. He was being a snob. Yet, she had a penchant for snobbery as well, even if it looked different than his own. The first time he had accused her of this, she was so surprised she didn't have a witty retort ready. She had just turned on her heel and left the room. He smiled slightly at the memory and knew that Elizabeth would find sport in laughing at the members of the New York society. Though call her a snob and she would immediately chide him for his pride.

He was achingly lonely. He could recognize that now. Before Elizabeth, he had protected himself through disdain and pride. And now that she was gone, he could admit to himself that had never changed very much. Elizabeth was a softening influence. He had been happy. Funny how happiness can affect one's character. It had made him gentler in his opinions than before. Slower to cast judgment. But, there was no reason for rose-colored glasses now and he was not inclined to any pretense. New York and its society were not pleasant and beneath him. He had made a mistake. A very large one too.

Lost in thought, Darcy found himself at the end of the long hallway standing in front of a door that was not familiar. He had thought he was heading towards his bedroom, but now he seemed to find himself in a different wing. Opening the door, he could see nothing but darkness. He squinted to adjust to the dark, holding a candle into the room to see what was inside. Something held him back from entering the room. A strange fit of apprehension. But his curiosity overtook fear when not even the outstretched candle illuminated the expanse of darkness. He took a step even as fear was gripping his chest. Then there was nothing besides blackness.

His first glimpse of light again was blinding and painful. He saw the blurry face of a woman with dark, curly hair.

"What's your name, sir?" She asked, shining a small light in his eyes and then pulling it away, staring furtively at his pupils. His eyes slowly focused on the face in front of him.

"Elizabeth?" He stared at her in disbelief. "I must be in a dream." He reached to touch her face.

She jerked away. "I'm Dr. Eaton. I'll be taking care of you. Do you remember how you hurt your head?"

"My head…" he trailed off, bringing his fingers to his forehead and feeling warm blood. He realized he was lying down, but felt too weak to move much more.

She grabbed his fingers. "Don't touch it. We still have to stitch you up. Now I'm just going to give you a little shot to numb the area." She reached over to a small stainless steel table for a syringe with a large needle. "Remain still while I…" She moved to insert the needle into his skin near the gash. She laughed, noticing Darcy's eyes get wide. "You're not afraid of a little shot are you?" She slid the needle in quickly. Darcy winced. 

As she cleaned the wound, he murmured, closing his eyes, "This must be some sort of strange dream. I cannot feel my forehead any longer."

She smiled warmly. "I'm afraid you're entirely awake, sir. That's just the shot doing its job. Most people don't want to feel sutures being put in." She looked at this ashen complexion. "Are you feeling ok? You don't look great. Sir, does this kind of stuff make you woozy?"

"No. No. I've had wounds before that needed to be closed. But you would know that, wouldn't you, Elizabeth?"

She was taken back, comprehending his use of her first name. "Um. I don't think we've been able to be your medical history. You were out for a while." She stopped what she was doing and looked at him. "It's actually Dr. Eaton. I mean, Dr. Elizabeth Eaton, but I prefer-- I mean I feel more comfortable being called Dr. Eaton."

Darcy suddenly felt very awake, his eyes darting around the room to take it all in. "Who are you? Where am I? You look so much like Elizabeth, but you aren't her, are you? I don't recognize anything. What is this place? The din in here…" His heart felt like it was suddenly about to burst. His breath turned ragged. He tried to push himself up onto his elbows, but his muscles gave way. Elizabeth gently held him down by the forearms. "Sir, I think you are going into shock. You need to take deep breaths. Mark," she turned to the nurse in the corner, "Can you elevate his legs?" She turned to Darcy, looking him in the eyes and laying her hands flat over his heart, "Look at me and focus."

He tried. He tried his best, but everything turned black.


	2. Diagnosis

Elizabeth barely had time to stuff a bag of peanut M&Ms in her mouth when Mark had notified her that her head injury patient had woken up. He had been out for an hour. The hospital was at capacity. She had already seen multiple gunshot wounds, a nail gun accident, a guy who had sliced off his toe off by dropping, what she had to guess, was the sharpest kitchen knife in history and gender reveal gone wrong. 

"Full moon," someone commented at her as she jogged down the hall. She checked her watch. 115 minutes left until she could finally go home and pass out in her bed. 

She grabbed the hastily filled-out chart outside the patient's door. A nurse finally got his name: Fitzwilliam Darcy. A mouthful. She hoped he was a little more coherent this time around. 

When she came in the room, he was sitting propped up on the bed, brow furrowed in concentration at a TV on in a far corner of the room. She took a chair next to him. 

"You're up" she put on her best bedside smile. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel as if my head has been stitched up. Moreover, I have no idea where I could possibly be or who any of these people are. In short, I am not feeling particularly well," Darcy answered, his voice gravelly and thick. 

Elizabeth exchanged glances with the nurse who came in shortly after her to note his vitals. "Well, to begin, you're in a hospital, sir."

"I gathered that. However, nothing about this is familiar. Everything is wrong and strange. You look like…but you're not. You're different. That's the most unsettling thing. " Darcy felt agitated in his reclining position while Elizabeth and the other man stared at him. He was not used to being studied by a woman as he lied supine.

Elizabeth tried to change tactics. "Can you tell me about your accident?"

"No, I cannot. I know nothing of receiving this injury, madam."

Elizabeth repressed a smirk. She was nothing if not professional, but something about his indignant formality made her want to laugh. "Ok. Maybe you've had some short-term memory loss. That can happen with a head injury. Why don't you tell me what year it is?" she asked.

"1818," he answered without hesitation.

She raised her eyebrows at Mark, the nurse, over Darcy, which agitated him further. "No, the year. What's today's date?"

"The sixth of February, 1818." He said confidently, but his voice rose in a question as he saw their faces.

"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth began softly, "the date today is August 6th, 2018. You might have had some head trauma. We'll figure it."

She turned to Mark. "Let's get a CT."

Turning back to Darcy she said gently, "Mark is going to take you back to get a CAT scan and check for any bleeding or swelling." He stared at her blankly. "They are going to take a picture of your brain." He stayed silent, his brow furrowed in thought. "Well, I'll come back and check on you afterward."

When she patted his hand, in part to make sure he was listening and in part to provide some comfort, he looked her directly in the eyes. "You are returning, then?"

She looked down at his chart, embarrassed without knowing why. "Yup. We'll figure this out." She smiled and walked towards the door, speaking softly to Mark, "Can you call for a psych consult, too, Mark? Maybe this is a prior issue."

She turned to Darcy again, "We'll talk when you get back." And with that she left, leaving him lying on a hard bed only to be rolled out the door a minute later. He didn't possess the energy to try to figure out what was happening to him.

An hour later, Mark met her in the hall, "Here are the scans."

She held them to the light in the ceiling. "Looks good. No visible brain injury. Did you call psych?"

"They're backed up. Short-staffed."

"Well, physically everything is fine. Let's get keep him for an hour and then hopefully we can transfer him to psych. There aren't enough beds to keep him. He has no id, no insurance. Rodriguez is going to start complaining."

Elizabeth called to another doctor, Meg, down the hall. Meg was one of the best doctors in their residency and also her closest friend. They met their first year of residency and became family. 

Elizabeth easily pushed the line of career-driven to workaholic, while Meg's easy-going nature reined her back in when necessary.

Meg jogged over, ginger ponytail bouncing, "What's up?"

"I need a consult. I'm not sure what's going. This guy had a head injury, but scans came back negative for any noticeable brain trauma. But he thinks it's 1818, so…"

Meg laughed and then stopped short. "That's not funny. Sorry. Well, let's go talk to him and see if this is an amnesia thing or a delusion."

When they entered the room, Darcy had his head back on the bed, eyes shut, he mouth in a frown. He heard them approach and his eyes flew open. "Excuse me," he sat up, "I thought I could wake myself up from this dream."

"Mr. Darcy. This is a colleague of mine, Dr. Meg Smith. I just want to get another opinion about what may be happening. So, you said before the year was 1818."

He nodded. "It is. I mean it was. You said it was not. It is…"

"2018."

"I was at my home, in New York, when I noticed a peculiar door I had never seen. I entered it, of course. All I could feel was blackness and then I woke here."

Elizabeth hesitated, "Mr. Darcy, you were found passed out in an alleyway not far from here with quite a deep gash on your head. You have deep bruises on the right side of your face, including quite the gorgeous shiner. Are you sure that you don't remember anything after leaving your house?"

"No, I didn't leave my house. I entered a room and now I am here. I have no idea what is happening. I do not recall receiving any sort of injury. As far as I knew it was 1818, unfortunately."

"And now you're here in 2018. So, it was like a wormhole in your house?" Meg questioned. Elizabeth shot her a look.

"A wormhole?" Mark echoed.

"Yeah, you know the thing, well I think it's just a theory, but it allows you to travel between universes-"

Mark rolled his eyes. "I remember Into to Astronomy, too. But I thought it was a bridge to parallel universes, so it would be the same year."

"Well, if it's just a theory, maybe you could travel through time instead," Meg said excitedly.

"Isn't that a black hole?"

Elizabeth interrupted, frustrated, "Ok, maybe we should focus on what we specialize in: medicine. I think this man is suffering from a delusion."

"He is wearing clothes from the 1800s…" Mark pointed out.

Elizabeth looked at his clothes for the first time. Boots, breeches, linen shirt, wool jacket. She rolled her eyes. "He's not from the 1800s," she stated assertively.

Darcy had been watching the exchange silently. He finally cut in, "I can tell you with all honesty—"

"You're not," Elizabeth snapped and then colored. She was feeling over her head. She thought she knew how to handle a case like this, but something was throwing her off. Maybe it was the way he was looking at her. Like she would solve everything. Like she was the only one in the room and they weren't two other medical professionals with degrees and experience.

"Elizabeth…" Meg started.

"Maybe a memory lapse?" Elizabeth interrupted her, eager to go back to being the professional handling every patient with ease.

"Like long-term memory loss of the last two centuries?"

"Where would the clothes come from? Maybe he's an actor. Maybe he believes in a reality he's constructed due to a heady injury."

Darcy became indignant, ready now to find some semblance of control in the situation. "I know very well who makes my clothes. I know who I am. I can remember everything to the point of falling. I am not mad," he said angrily.

His medical team stared, embarrassed and chastised.

"We're sorry, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said and then turned to Mark and Meg, "I'm going to check on that psych consult. Mark, will you get some more history from Mr. Darcy here and fill in some blanks on his chart?" With that she left, eager to clear her head. Thirty more minutes until the end of her shift.

By the time she got back to the small room, Darcy was alone, sitting rigidly on the bed looking exhausted and a little vulnerable. Of course, all patients were vulnerable. They were sick and hurt and scared. No one wanted to be in the hospital. But there was something in the expression in Darcy's face. She was overcome with the urge to put her arms around him and soothe him. She couldn't wait to get rid of this guy.

She cleared her throat. "Mr. Darcy, we haven't been able to get that psychiatric consult. You're going to have to stay here a little longer until we get that. A social worker will be over to help you."

Darcy looked at his clasped hands. Elizabeth cleared her throat, "Mr. Darcy?"

"Forgive me, but could you explain the word psychiatric?"

"It's, ah, well, you know," she fumbled for the words.

Darcy looked at her coldly, "I do not."

"Well, it's a doctor that checks your brain, but more like the emotional state of your brain to make sure everything is normal. That you're not a harm to yourself or others," He was still looking at her, questioning. "We need to see if you have any brain disorder."

He drew back, offended, "I am not mad. You want to lock me up in an asylum. I am perfectly in control of my mental facilities."

"We're not going to lock you up. We just need to double-check the damage you sustained."

"I will not do that. I do not give you permission to do that. I know what happens to men that go to those types of hospitals. I'm leaving now. I'm allowed to do that, yes?"

"You would be checking out against your doctor's advisement."

"I will no longer need my doctor's advisement."

"Listen. You are suffering from an acute delusion—" He made a low noise in his throat, almost a growl. "An acute delusion," she continued, "At least wait for the social worker to come and talk about your options. Do you have a place to go tonight?"

Her question threw him off. He hadn't thought about the world outside the hospital and the probable lack of his house in town.

"Will you stay for just a little bit longer then? See the social worker?"

He agreed. Elizabeth sighed in relief.

A different nurse came in. Shift change. "Hi, Jill."

Jill pulled her aside, "Hey, Dr. Eaton. Your patient here is being checked out. Dr. Rodriguez's orders."

"We're releasing him?"

"Medically he's ok…" She began.

"Yeah, but psychologically he's a mess." Elizabeth snapped and immediately regretted it. She knew Jill was just relaying a message. This whole night she was on the precipice of too much emotion and it was messing with her head. She just needed to go home.

"We don't have the beds," Jill said, irritated.

Elizabeth evaluated the situation for a moment. "Look, I'm sorry. It's been a night, right? Is the social worker coming?"

"That's the plan. Everything is so backed up."

"It's that time of year," Elizabeth rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably.

"Full moon," Jill said in a mock spooky voice.

Meg came in just in time to inform them there weren't any social workers available until tomorrow.

"What? This is insane. What is he supposed to do?"

Jill shrugged. "There's a shelter down the street. He can stay there."

"Do you think you can handle getting to the shelter?" Elizabeth turned and asked Darcy.

"A shelter?" He wrinkled his brow in confusion.

"You know, a place to sleep tonight. It will be free."

He looked at her wearily, pushing his fingers on his temples.

Elizabeth brightened, "You know, my shift is over in five minutes..."

"Elizabeth..." Meg warned her.

She read her mind. "I'm not getting too involved. I'm just going to give him a ride."

"Can you come here a minute?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and stepped out, leaving the man looking bewildered as ever.

"What are you doing? You don't know him. He could be a creep," Meg hissed.

"He doesn't look like a creep, Meg." They both turned, taking in his 1800s cosplay. "Ok. Better yet, he hasn't acted like a creep. He's just different. But he's lost his memory. He's probably an actor. Maybe he owns a bed and breakfast. I don't think serial killers dress up like a founding father."

"Oh! Maybe he's in Hamilton. When he gets his memory straight he can get us tickets. As long as he doesn't murder you first."  
Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

Meg signed, "Ok. I can see you're going to do what you want. Just text me when you're done. Or call me if you think you might be getting murdered."

"Got it."

"I gotta see another patient. Be safe." Meg looked at her seriously.

"Scouts honor." She walked back to the bed behind the curtain. Jill was gone.

"Ok, Mr. Darcy. The hospital needs this bed for another patient. You are being discharged. But there's a shelter a few blocks away. I'm going to take you there so you have somewhere to  
sleep tonight. You can come back in the morning and we can work on this memory issue. The hospital should be calmer in the morning."

He sat there staring at her. He didn't know what to say; all he wanted was to wake from this nightmare. Elizabeth shifted nervously. "How do you feel about that?"

"I will appreciate somewhere to rest tonight. But, I can assure you that nothing is wrong with my memory. I can remember...I can remember most of my life until the moment before I ended up here. The problem is not my memory. I am...displaced. I can only surmise that I am lost." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "I do not know where I am. I do not recognize anything." He trailed off, his face crumpling. He pulled a hand over his face.

She took a step towards him. She wanted to clasp his hands and tell him she would figure it out. He looked so distressed. She remained professional. "Let me take you to the shelter to sleep tonight. Come back tomorrow and a social worker will try to figure this all out. Maybe think about talking to a psychiatrist."

He pinched his eyes closed in frustration. "Respectfully, I will not do that. I am perfectly healthy."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Ok. Well, stay here. I need to finish some paperwork and change and then I'll help you get to the shelter."

He only looked at her blankly.

"Will you wait for me then?" She asked.

He nodded, "I will." He paused, "You are my only friend at the moment."

At the word friend, she berated herself for getting too involved. She was just going to drop him off at the shelter. That was it. Just giving someone a ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a doctor if you can tell! I just watched ER and Gray's Anatomy in my formative years and that is what I know about hospitals. I decided to set it in 2018, before pre-covid :(


	3. Shelter

When she came back, the bed was occupied by a pregnant girl in black pigtail braids.

"Did you see the man that was here before you?" Elizabeth asked her.

The girl shook her head and Elizabeth slid the curtain closed, scanning the hallway. She jogged over to the nurses' desk. "Hey, did you see a man with…a coat…and a white shirt…he looked like he was from the 1800s."

"Oh yeah. I saw him. He was walking towards the exit." She pointed vaguely down the hallway.

She let out a groan of frustration. "He doesn't even know where he lives," Elizabeth replied already walking towards the doors.

"Sorry. I didn't know," the nurse shrugged.

She ran outside. The night humid and moonless. The only person out there was her attending, Julian Rodriguez, taking a smoke break. Rodriguez was in his early forties, with a substantial amount of gray in his dark hair. He was an avid smoker, a stereotypical ER doctor who barked orders, and had a permanent expression of annoyance. Elizabeth both admired his skills as a doctor and hated his bitter outlook.

"Hi, Dr. Rodriguez. Did you see a man leave here? Dressed in a costume?"

He shook his head, drawing on the cigarette. "I just got out here."

"Oh. Thanks." She turned to leave.

"Dr. Eaton. Don't get attached," He looked at her and then turned to take another drag of the cigarette.

"Um, ok. Thanks for the advice." She turned and went through the automatic doors. Taking a patient to a safe place to spend the night was just going the extra mile, not getting attached. If Humans of New York interviewed her at this moment, her post would go viral as an example of overworked doctors, overcrowded hospitals, and amazing service. Ok, maybe she shouldn't let one kind deed go to her head. Modesty was the issue here, not getting "too attached."

She found Darcy minutes later in the waiting room sitting stiffly, one leg crossed over the other. His dark hair was cropped close to his head but still had a tendency to curl at the top. He seemed so out of place, the corner of her mouth turned up almost involuntarily in a crooked smile. "There you are. It thought you had left."

He stood abruptly and bowed slightly. "Miss Elizabeth."

"It's actually Dr. Eaton, remember?" She rolled her eyes, use to the way some male patients treated her but unwilling to accept it.

"Doctor Eaton," he murmured, getting used to the name. He had been proud to refer to her correctly as miss, but he had been wrong about that too, apparently.

"So, you've been discharged. But I wanted to help you get to the shelter for the night."

"Yes. Excuse me for the inconvenience. They asked me to leave. They were quite firm about it."

"Ok, well, we're here now. Don't sweat it. I already got the Uber. Hopefully, they haven't driven away." She started to walk towards the parking lot doors. She quickly noticed she was walking alone. She turned, "Are you coming?"

Darcy sprang forward, noting this was the first time he sprang anywhere since he was twelve. "Yes. Of course." He followed her. "You changed your clothing."

She was wearing loose jeans and a paper-thin tee shirt from high school. Elizabeth laughed. "Yeah, I'm not going to stay in the same dirty scrubs I've been for 12 hours. My favorite part of the day is putting on clothes that don't reek of the hospital."

"I had not noticed any reeking."

"Aw, quit it. You're making me blush," she laughed again. She felt strangely giddy. Maybe it was just finally leaving the hospital.

Darcy, however, was feeling as close to giddy as was in his character. Hearing Elizabeth laugh was like turning the clock back two years, albeit briefly. It was like hearing his Elizabeth laugh. That same teasing, joyful laugh he had heard so often during their marriage. The same laugh that haunted him now that she was gone.

They approached a black Honda Civic. Elizabeth opened the door and waved for him to slide in the backseat first.

Darcy stopped, "What is this thing?"

"What? You mean the car? I got an Uber. I'm assuming you don't have a MetroCard on you," Elizabeth replied confused.

"What does it do?"

"This is really a first. It's transportation. It takes you from place to place."

"Similar to a carriage."

"Sure," she said, impatient.

"Are you guys getting in or not?" The guy driving barked out the window.

She rolled her eyes and opened the door. He just stood there, looking at her blankly. Elizabeth slid in and gestured to him. "Come on. Get in." He folded his body into the back seat awkwardly. She tried to excuse his awkwardness in doing this common task on his height, but she had tall friends who were able to get into the back seat of a car without contorting their bodies ridiculously. For a moment, she almost believed that he perhaps had really never been in a car before. But that would be insane. Unless he was Amish.  
Looking at him sitting, his knees bent in a way that looked painful against the back of the passenger seat, she knew she should say something to him about a seatbelt, but it just felt too uncomfortable telling a grown man to put his seatbelt on.

As they drove towards the shelter, Darcy was looking intensely outside the window, craning his neck to see the tops of the building.

"Here," Elizabeth reached over and rolled down his window. He pushed his head through the window, the humid air suddenly whipping his face. For the sake of decorum and dignity, Darcy felt mildly embarrassed, but the things around him, the people, the buildings, the light, the smell overwhelmed that part of him. He was at once astonished, intrigued, and frightened.

After a few minutes of this, he confessed, "You will not believe me, I know this. However, I am not just lost. I have been…displaced." He didn't look at her, knowing how it sounded.

She tried a different approach than snapping 'you're not from the 1800s.' "What do you mean? Like a refugee?"

"I am not familiar with that word."

"It's a person who has to leave their home, but they don't want to…I guess."

"K, here you guys go." The driver pulled over to an empty space on the street. She hopped out of the car, eager for this strange experience to be over.

He got out slowly and the car drove off. She wanted to sprint towards the shelter, but something in his expression stopped her. He was looking at her. Gazing, really.

"What is it?" She asked, the softness and familiarity in her voice surprising her.

"You just resemble someone I used to know."

She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Oh. Well, should we go in?"

"Eliza- Dr. Eaton. I am not a person who lies. In fact, I pride myself on honesty and integrity. I have been in perfect health and rationality most of my life. By strange circumstances, I find myself in a time that is not my own. I cannot explain to you how this may have happened or why, but please permit me to beseech you to consider that what I am saying to you is correct." He asked earnestly.

She looked down, unsure how to answer. "I believe, that you believe you are from a different time," she said carefully. You have had a head injury. Your test results came back negative for any visible damage, but clearly, something is going on. I just can't believe they released you. I guess it shows how crappy everything is right now. You need more help, Mr. Darcy. By a different kind of doctor perhaps."

"I am perfectly sane. I know who I am. This is not a fantasy," he pleaded.

She looked at him sympathetically. "It can feel like that. Brains are strange creatures."

He took a step back and pushed his shoulders back. "I take it you will not help me then," he said coldly. His face became expressionless.

Elizabeth felt the change. The loss of his trust felt like something had been taken from her. She wanted it back. "I am helping you."

"I need to go back where I came from."

"I know. The best I can do is drop you off here and then I can pick you up tomorrow and take you back to the hospital. You just need time. Most patients regain most of their memory with some time."

"Fine. You may escort me to my shelter."

They approached the large brick building. The lights appeared dim inside and a sign on the front of the building was turned off. Elizabeth's spirits dropped even further: the consequences of getting too involved. She looked around hopefully some sign of warmth from the place, something that would help him feel more at ease. Elizabeth could tell they were doing their best to keep the outside neat, but there were graffiti and gang signs spray-painted on multiple surfaces. There was a small group of people smoking outside and a couple of them started to shout at Darcy about his clothes as they passed.

"What sort of place is this exactly?" he spoke in a hushed tone.

"It's for people who don't have anywhere to sleep tonight. Like you."

"A tavern?"

"No. This is free. You're going to get a cot. There will be other people in the room too. It's just a safe temporary place to rest while we- you get your situation sorted out," she explained entering the building.

The inside was actually clean and bright, which cheered Elizabeth slightly, although it was a bit damp smelling.

They approached a social worker with a clipboard and a coffee.

Elizabeth spoke nervously. "Hi. Hey, I'm a doctor at Presbyterian. This is Fitzwilliam Darcy. He was my patient. He's experiencing memory loss. No ID. No next of kin yet. There are no beds in psych and we had to discharge him. I was hoping there was an empty bed here tonight."

The social worker looked at his clipboard absentmindedly, "Yeah. Check-in is at seven pm. We don't take anybody after that. It's ten. "

"I figured, but we really need an exception—"

Darcy was observing the scene around him, his clasped behind his back. The stench. The sterile, cold rooms. A little past the hallway he could see the open of a room with cots set up and men milling about.

After standing stoically at her side, Darcy cut her off forcefully, "I will not stay here. This is absurd. I am not homeless. I have three houses in two countries."

The social worker smirked, "Sure, buddy."

Elizabeth felt indignant, protective. "Don't talk to him like that. He's not crazy."

Darcy looked at her, shock registering on his face, "Thank you, Dr. Eaton."

The social worker checked the clipboard again. "I'm sorry. You're right. Look, we have one bed left. You can have it. But, this is a one-time exception. We really can't take anybody after seven. It's not fair to everyone that got here on time."

Elizabeth began to speak, but Darcy interrupted, "No. I cannot. This whole thing is absurd. I will not be sleeping here. I cannot. It is beneath me." He felt himself starting to lose control over his body again. His breath became shallow. His heart felt like it was bursting over and over.

Elizabeth was annoyed by his outburst until she noticed his face turn pale. She placed a hand on his arm. "Mr. Darcy, you have to calm down. Here, look at me. Take deep breaths," she soothed, keeping her hand on his arm while putting her other hand to his chest to feel his breath. She took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth and motioned for him to do the same.

He looked at her with a panicked look in his eye, but he followed her breathing, keeping eye contact with her until the color returned to his face. She felt her heart skip staring at his face like that. She blushed, embarrassed.

The social worker spoke up when Darcy seemed to have control again. "Look, I don't want to be insensitive, but it's almost time for us to close the doors for tonight. So, are you coming in or not?"

Darcy was about to answer, but Elizabeth interrupted. "No. Thanks anyway. Appreciate it." She hurriedly turned away, taking Darcy's hand to pull him along before she changed her mind.

"Elizabeth?" He questioned, trailing after her.

Once they got outside she turned to him, running her fingers through her hair. "Do you want to stay with me tonight?" she blurted. "I don't usually do this. I mean this is nuts. I shouldn't do this." She looked away from him. "I just, well, I feel…" She looked at him abruptly. "I feel like I know you. I mean, I feel like I trust you. You better not turn out to be a psychopath," She laughed at her joke but stopped suddenly when she realized it wasn't a joke at all.

"If it brings you comfort, I have never been called a psychopath before. I will assume it does not describe my character. Take comfort in the fact that I am a gentleman and my reputation as a gentleman has never been besmirched." he paused, suddenly uncomfortable, "But, Dr. Eaton, is this proper? I would hesitate to do anything that would mark your own good standing. "

She let out a short laugh, "No. No, it's not. But I'll be fine—we'll just keep this between us, right?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well then let's get something to eat first before I invite you to stay in the same place I will be unconscious for eight hours. Maybe we can get to know each other better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gone over this, but I feel like it might be missing something. But I'm not sure what.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why, but I'm nervous to post this even though it's all complete! Let me know what you think.


End file.
